


A Tale of Two Princesses

by lloronadeazulceleste



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloronadeazulceleste/pseuds/lloronadeazulceleste
Summary: Only a Princess can understand a Princess.Fortunately for Crown Princess of the Fire Nation Izumi, Azula the Fallen is right there.





	A Tale of Two Princesses

**Author's Note:**

> While I was writing for the (Fire) Royal Family Week 2K19, I wrote two entries for the Coming of Age Day. I posted the first one with the rest, but I couldn't shake this story off of me, so here it is.

“Are these things really as dreadful as everyone is making them be?” came as dull whisper, barely veiling the shakiness and anxiety the _Soon-to-be-announced-Crown-Princess_ Izumi of the Fire Nation was being drowned in.

The question has been rolling on her mind ever since she woke up that morning, and the uneasiness never left her. It made having a meal quite a difficult feat. Admitting being nervous was so un-princess like that she had not been able to speak to anyone about it. She had tried to ask her mother, but the Fire Lady had been a noblewoman, not a _princess_. And every single day, from the moment she opened her eyes, Izumi found that there were entire bookshelves dedicated to the exact way a teacup should be held by the princess, and more so to the expectations placed upon her. Being a princess was not an easy task, and a slip could cause… well, _a lot_.

Being the only princess (_after the fallen Princess Azula, that is, but no one dared mention it_) to grace the Fire Nation after almost three thousand years of only men being high enough in the succession line made it so that she had no one to talk to. And the weight of the entire Fire Nation and its glorious (and not-so-glorious) history placed upon her too slender shoulders. Princess Izumi was left with a world that had been built from ashes, one where she stood alone. No one to relate. No one who was alive, anyway.

No one but her aunt.

And that was it. Izumi had resigned herself to suffer and brooding in silence –perhaps not _complete _silence, for she dared sigh at least thirty thousand times whenever someone was in the same room as her; _she was really good at it, the drama really ran through her veins_—. The young princess had almost been convinced that no one would ask what was wrong –and _actually meant it_. Not some off-comment about just how much she resembled her Father, whatever that meant. 

Deciding to succumb to a young death of stress, perfectionism AND lack of attention, Izumi waited to meet her end. _A princess always assumed difficulty with honor._  
  
Until her Aunt came to her rooms uninvited and decided to stay as she prepared for the night.

So the Soon-to-be-announced-Crown-Princess-Izumi of the Fire Nation shot her shot and did what she hated most. She waited for an answer.

“No, they are not.” Her aunt said, without blinking.

Princess Azula stood in front of the mirror, eyes fixed with intent. Her makeup was one of the many things she did not trust others with. A quirk the maids had scoffed at, and the court murmured about, though the princess could care less. Her years spent wandering around the world while escaping hadn’t been kind; it was written all over her face. Only a talented hand could know to hide the story behind each small scar.

The former princess was beautiful but hardened with iron and fire. “They are worse,” Azula replied, looking at her reflection desperately trying to find something else to work on. She fixed her painted lips and studied the result. “I’ve conquered cities,” she whispered, and Izumi almost couldn’t hear the smallest hint of pride in her aunt’s voice, could almost pretend she didn’t. “I’ve commanded armies. I learned to bend blue fire, and nothing has ever been quite as difficult as dealing with court.”

Izumi let out a shaky breath. Azula pressed her lips in a tight line, a disapproving look sent her niece’s way. “_A princess must never show what she is truly thinking_” is a lesson she learned by heart, and old habits die hard. Times were different, though, and young Izumi deserved what her aunt could not get. Relaxing her shoulders, Azula fixed her eyes on her niece and her quick pacing around the room. If there was something Izumi liked, it was talking. Something she hadn’t inherited from her mother, she thought with a smirk.

“Courtesans? I can play them,” she said, and her voice was soft. Izumi's pacing was making her nervous, and a nervous Azula was not a good thing. “But not willingly. I never really cared for it.”

_She’d had to, for it pleased Father. She’d had to, for it was one of her many talents. She’d had to, for the glory of her nation. She’d had to, for there was nothing else she could do._ Nothing more to occupy herself with. Nothing more to feel useful.

Azula had thought herself a good judge of character. She thought she was a people’s person. That she understood their deepest desires, and so she played them like puppets. It turned out to be all a lie – she had been the puppet all along. Her fall had been strenuous – one history would never forget, but one Azula felt like daggers, mockery more painful than any injury she ever sported. And so, Princess Azula trusted no more on the beast that awaited her with fake smiles and plots behind their backs. She trusted even less on those who claimed their loyalty. You see, loyalty was a frail thing. One cannot build empires on loyalty along. While love is needed, it does not mean it comes easier.

Izumi made a face. The older princess thought briefly of days spent at the garden by the side of Ty Lee and Mai. Of the sun coloring their cheeks, and the way Mai would scoff without scoffing at the things she thought were bullshit. It drew a smile to her face, recognizing it in her niece.

“_You didn’t have to_. From what I’ve read, you were quite busy and there was hardly the time to—”

She whined, though, and it is so Zuko that Azula could almost laugh.

Laughing at the Crown Princess of the Fire Nation is the unthinkable, though, and Azula is not (and has never been) a traitor, so she does not. Decades of etiquette do wonders. 

“I still had my debut,” she said, not wanting to hear any more about her tough training, nor about effort that never saw its fruits.

Father might not be around anymore, but her failure was a story she would never be free from, a burden she’d always carry. It was in the whispers that surrounded her whenever she came in a room. It was in the hardened eyes that followed whenever she went to the city on duty and her older subjects –those who seemed not to get the memo that things _were_ different now— were personally offended about her destiny.

She’d cared not for the throne as much as she’d cared to make her father proud. Azula had cared for her country with everything she was, but the country she loved had no right to exist the way it did. It pained her to admit it cost her almost a lifetime to learn so. The princess figured it would take her yet another to atone for her mistakes. Her fall was a sacrifice she’d make another time with no hesitation, she knew now, as stunned as it would make others if they could know it.

* * *

Izumi’s eyes snapped her out of her thoughts, calm and curious as she seated in front of her, straight back and clasped hands. It reminded her of Mai, back when she was just learning about masks. Back before she learned to hide her interest. It had taken a lifetime to unlearn the hard lessons taught by her family, but Azula could see that her old friend was better now.

“Did you?” she asked, and she sounded so astonished the older princess could almost scoff – of course she wasn’t training all day long! She had been a young girl, too. And it was no secret Azula loved attention.

“It was grand and opulent,” she said, trying to appear nonchalant, but the smallest hint of nostalgia was well present in her voice.

One of the things she loathed the most about age was how nostalgic it seemed to make her. How everything seemed brighter in the years-long lost. She’d thought herself happy, then.

“Father was… _proud_ and wanted all the Fire Nation to be as well.”

* * *

Azula had thought herself so loved she barely could keep herself from smiling when alone, feeling light and feathery.

How could Ozai not be proud? She mused know – The Princess Azula was his brightest weapon – his greatest creation. Azula, an extension of his very soul. Of his power. Of his glory. Always an extension, never a whole by herself. And she had accepted it. She embraced the title and adored his shadows because she adored her nation and she loved her father. It never occurred to her that he might not love her back.

She remembered feeling alone; she can’t remember a time where she wasn’t. Zuko was not there. Ty Lee was thinking of running away. Mai had grown even gloomier with Zuko gone. Ursa (_mother_) disappeared and was never going back. But Azula was there, and that would’ve had to do. It always had to do. Princesses need nothing but their crowns, and Azula’s was heavier and gleamier than most – she had made damn sure of that.

On her twelfth birthday, Princess Azula decided not to care about those who were not there _(those who left)_ – it was her day, and hers alone.

The ghosts in her room could go unnoticed, for the echo of the streets chanting her name did wonders to keep her head leveled.

She called for her manicurists, and her hair was combed one thousand times until it felt as soft as silk and it gleamed under the candle lights. If any of them thought she looked like Princess Ursa, none said a thing – she would have lit them all on fire if they dare say out loud what came briefly to her mind but was quickly dismissed. She had started to forget. The young princess appreciated the maid’s good sense. Her mirror was merciful, back then, Azula mused. Something she had taken for granted, however little. Those were simpler times.

By midmorning, the traditional gifts from Ty Lee and Mai arrived. She went through them absently. They were pretty, but the kind of gifts expected to be received by a princess. She was glad to see a few titles of some books she had been wishing upon for some time – strategy and theater, though she would never admit it aloud. And, she found with a real smile, cherry sweets that she suspected were made from Ty Lee’s cook, who was a genius in her area. Those she slipped in her large sleeves, hiding them from sight, before their servants could do so much as even seeing them. Father did not appreciate her indulgence in candy.

_A warrior must take care of her body._

And a warrior she was. The best there has ever been. The best to ever grace the Fire Nation.

* * *

Her birthday fell on the anniversary of a great military celebration and marked the end of the festivities of the Summer Solstice. No matter the year, Azula’s birthday was a big affair. On her twelfth birthday, though, they had just recently gotten their hands on Hongsei – a gift from an old general that once served Fire Lady Ilah.

The old man had approached her on the halls, a small smile on his lips, a gesture that seemed off and awkward, given his usually cold nature. She liked him and his crude ways, though she would never admit it. He told Azula that he did it for her, because she inspired them. That the entire army fought for something to bring back to their princess. And she even let herself smile at him, a real smile, before a smug was placed instead. “The Glory is to the Fire Nation,” she said, because she believed it, and because she knew the general’s eyes would gleam, passion in his face.

Father thought the gift was fitting (though he knew not it was a gift _for_ her)– a message to be sent. One that would be understood. _The Fire Nation stood proud on their conquered stones_. The Nation lacked not in conquerors, as the halls were the main proof of it. Conquerors that were legends by themselves, whose blood ran through her veins, as Father said when she turned three and produced her first fire.

Azula was now ready to follow her family’s path of honor and victory. She was the blood of the dragon. She had been kissed by fire. She was going to be just like them –like Azulon, like Sozin, like Iroh _(in his golden years)._ Only better. Much, much better.

Princess Azula would learn from their mistakes. Their falls were her risings. She was going to show the entire world the glory of her nation, of her people, of her blood. She was a mere instrument and she was happy that way.

_What else could she aspire to be?_

_(That’s why her fall was so humiliating, she mused now. She had flied so close to the sun, came a breath away from becoming the greatest hero the nation had ever seen, only to lose herself to madness. An existence filled with accomplishments and pride – a trophy everyone could admire—that ended tainted._

_ Broken. _

_Sullied. _

_Azula went from conqueror to conquered; from victory to utter failure, and the fall was so fast she wasn’t sure she hadn’t died from it._

_The princess had forgiven herself for not being perfect, though it had cost her years of tears and shame. _

_Others were not ready to do the same, yet. _

_One just doesn’t forget the best stories.)_

When everything else did not work; when everyone left, all Azula had was her nation. And her nation had her, so she thought. There was no mistake in the way they clamored her name when her achievements were made public, read by Li and Lo from the Palace’s balconies. There was no mistake in the pile of gifts waiting for her in one of the palace’s rooms birthday after birthday. There was no mistake in the way she was looked upon – even if it was only the treatment she deserved.

But that night, on her twelfth birthday, the nation did not know yet the value of its princess. They knew her name, they celebrated their birth with a month full of songs and drink. They knew a princess would sit on the throne after almost three thousand years; a princess born of fire and sun. A princess that was a true dragon. A princess that was a bending prodigy, perhaps one to rival her Uncle, _and the Nation had loved Iroh_, even if now they were to ashamed to admit it.

It was known that Fire Lord Ozai was throwing a party that would be remembered for centuries, for after so long Agni had blessed his house with a woman as an heir. An heir that was not born to it, but destiny chose, just like him.

* * *

At nine, and after her training in hand to hand combat and bending, Father broke his fast with her.

Princess Azula was called when she was already sitting on the table at her rooms, freshly washed and readied in simple clothing, breathable and soothing for her exhausted body. She quickly changed for something more fitting for the occasion, and almost ran to her father’s side, forgetting the treat of cherries she had been chewing on.

Jewels and bending scrolls welcomed her, carried by a tired maid. A gift from her father. Treasures that once belonged to Fire Lady Illah were now to adorn her neck and slender fingers, he said. What won her over, though, was a set that was created especially for her in rare gems that gleamed blue under the fire light.

“As beautiful as you are, Princess,” had said Father, and she’d fought down a smile. Azula heard not the icy tone in his voice.

She thanked him well enough, her bow dip and loyal. Poise would not go forgotten, for she was a true royal and there could never be a doubt of that.

There were little occasions to wear such delicacy, the princess thought as she studied the jewel. Oh, she hoped that were to change in the near future! The Fire Nation Academy for girls was not really an elegant affair (no matter what Ty Lee said). She was growing tired of only wearing her jewels whenever Ty Lee and Mai came to play. They used to act the plays the princess had just recently watched on Ember Islands, and some that Mai –_Mai, quiet Mai_,_ who would even think she was so capable to paint such intricate stories_? – would create, her voice a whisper. Azula would perfect them, of course, because everything had to be perfect, and if not her, who would?

Plus, there simply was not enough war in them. And war did make things more interesting, even if her friends (whose taste left something to be desired, truly) disagreed.

They were no longer going to play together, though. There were never going to be more of those stories; no more princesses and empresses, nor dragons and witches. That time had passed. It was now time for them to rejoice in their roles. It was time to actually be a princess; to be warriors, to be wives. To be the perfect woman their mothers wanted them to be. To actively play the part they were born to play. Long gone were the small girls they once were, and the most infuriating thing was that Azula did not know how to feel about that; there was happiness, of course, for she had been waiting and preparing all her life to become the perfect princess she knew she could be. Still, the uneasiness in her stomach did not leave her. and it sickened to discover just how weak she still was.

Fire Lord Ozai and Princess Azula ate in silence, as they always did whenever he decided to grace her with his company. The only sound that could be heard were the clicking of cutlery and utensils against porcelain, and the princess found it was almost her favorite melody, for at least she was not alone. Two servants fanned the two royals with palm leaves; the morning was as hot as one could expect the summer solstice to be. Azula treasured every single second with the happiness of knowing he had cancelled court in favor of being with her.

“I’m sweating,” she called, and a maid with quick hands dried the liquid from her neck and her forehead, and the two servants started fanning with more energy.

“Leave us,” Fire Lord Ozai said, not gracing them with a glance.

The two servants bowed deeply and went their way, followed by Azula’s citrine curious eyes. She wanted to protest but didn’t dare. Not when her father was acting this secretive. Fire Lord Ozai spoke no word for a few minutes, urging the remains of his cup of white tea.

He hummed, pleased, and licked his lips as he said: “you are to meet the man who pretends to be your betrothed at the party.”

Azula knew the man speaking to her was not her father but her Fire Lord when she noticed the edge his voice carried –pleasant but menacing. One that left no room for an answer. Speaking out of turn in front of her mighty ruler was out of question, an offense she would never dare make, lest she wore the mark in her skin.

As was costume, the princess lowered her gaze, fixing it on her plate and waited for her cue.

Cherries no longer seemed appetizing.

“I have received petitions for your hand from all over the world, Princess Azula. Some more valuable than others,” he said, and she almost thought she heard humor in his voice. Almost. “It seems your wedding could be celebrated in just a few years,” he said, cold eyes studying her every move. “How does that sound, daughter?”

“I will be pleased to serve my nation in every way possible,” she said, after weighting carefully her words. It was the answer of the perfect princess, and Azula held on tight on the belief that it was her truth as well.

Ozai hummed, pleased.

“I have thought some almost… insulting. A princess of my blood deserves nothing but the best.” Ozai did not tell her one of the requests came from Zhao himself. He was still unsure of the strange feeling that seemed to creep on his stomach when he heard the soldier expressing his admiration for the princess’ beauty.

He’d have to send him far, far away. Soon.

“I trust my Fire Lord’s judgement and wisdom.”

“I thought so. Although, I had hoped you could serve your nation in a more… handy way before marrying.”

Her eyes almost snapped back at him, and with all her strength she tried to keep her enthusiasm in check.

“Your Nation will need you in the front someday, Princess Azula.”

“Father…?” she said, her voice shaky.

“I have already sent for an armor to be fixed. You will continue your military training with the troops in the Southern Islands until further notice. Happy Birthday, Princess.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, her head low and her heart touched. “It will be my honor.”

“I am sure it will.”

“When will I part?”

“You must be ready before winter starts. I still want you to attend to your Law and Politics lessons.”

“I will not fail you, Father.”

Princess Azula bowed deeply and raised only after Fire Lord Ozai told her so with a movement of his hand.

“I will retire to my occupations for today. You will find your armor waiting for you in your rooms, Princess Azula. We will see at the Ceremony.”

“Thank you, Father.”

* * *

She found the majestic armor at her bed. Deciding not to call for help – it was such an important moment for her she could not help feeling the need to keep it to herself –, the princess dressed.

Every layer was laid carefully, wrapping her body in the feeling of usefulness and the love she held for her nation and her art. Later on, she would learn to polish the metal to perfection, never trusting another soul to leave it just as she favored. Never trusting a soul that she believed polishing her armor to be the most honorable thing she could ever do.

Then and there, looking at her reflection, a child with round cheeks and open, round eyes in armor too big for her slender and small frame met her eyes. Azula would never admit it aloud, but the armor was heavier than it looked. She noticed, not without a small scorn, that she would have to train even harder if she pretended to wear it soon.

The princess raised an eyebrow and conjured blue flame. Appreciative eyes followed her every move in the mirror, pleased. _Pleased, pleased and proud_. How could she not?

“I am Princess Azula, kissed by fire; I am Princess Azula, the blood of the dragon”, she said, her chin up, reciting the same words an Ember Island Play character had said, once. “I am General Azula, she who conquered Ba Sing Se,” she added, in her princess's voice – the one she used when she wanted her orders to be followed religiously. The one that made everyone agree with her ideas. She clasped her hands at her back and tried to look her most regal, her most menacing. Looking at her reflection, the princess actually smiled.

She had, then, twirled awkwardly in her room. Feeling stupid and as silly as any other girl, she stopped. A princess could not behave like a simple commoner. Instead, the princess focused on each craved detail, each artistic inch of her new gift. And she traced them with eager hands, fascinated eyes following every inch of what she thought was the best gift she could ever receive.

* * *

“Your Father gave you an armor for your coming of age ceremony?” Izumi’s surprised voice draws her back of her memories, a small knot already forming in her throat.

“Yes, he did,” she answered simply, looking at her niece.

Izumi let down her shoulders, and her lips formed a tight line. The morning was going to an end, and her gifts were yet to be seen. And she knew they were of no importance, not really, but her father had yet to wish her a happy birthday. Izumi feared he had forgotten. Or worse.

“Don’t pout, young princess. The fact that your father thought naught of such a thing is proof enough of the love he holds for you,” Azula said, her voice a caress that did well in hiding old aches. Her dainty hands found their way to her niece’s cheeks, and she cupped them gently. The gesture seemed off, for the older princess rarely showed her affection. Izumi appreciated it all the same, smiling through her worried eyes.

“He hasn’t come greet me yet.”

“He is waiting for the perfect moment. Zuko was never one to create the opportunities himself when he thought the moment would just come to him,” she said, a nonchalant movement of her hand, and a roll of her eyes. “I am sure he wants not to come with empty hands, nor with company.”

“I hope that’s true,” she said, lowering her eyes.

Noticing that the princess's insecurities ran deeper, Azula weighed her words carefully.

“My father promised me a country. Yours, he built a whole new world for you. Don’t ever forget that, princess Izumi. You’re no queen of ashes.”

“I will not, Aunt,” she said.

“And fix your crown, we don’t want it falling off of you on this night. People from all over the world will be there to see it. Everyone wants to at least catch a glimpse of the most intelligent, capable and kind princess there has ever walked the Fire Nation. And you, too I guess,” she said flatly, but the joke fell as was intended, and Izumi smiled against her aunt’s nonchalant posture.

“Can you…?”

“It will be my honor, Izumi, Crown Princess of the Fire Nation,” she said, and stood in front of her, quick talented fingers doing what they were born to do.

Once Princess Azula finished fixing the crown on her niece’s head, she bowed shortly.

“Thank Agni you inherited my good lucks,” she whispered, winking.

“Please, tell me more about that armor.”

“Nervous still, are you not?”

“I just… I need to get this out of my head. I’ve-I’ve never been in front of that many people. What if I mess up? What if I...?” Izumi stopped, biting hard on her lower lip. Azula watched her carefully, before dropping her shoulders and holding one of her niece’s hands. Izumi held on tight.

“It was majestic. It didn’t fit at first, but by winter, when I parted with the troops, it fit like a glove.”

“And the jewels? What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. They must be out there, somewhere,” she said with a casual movement of her hands. She tried hard not to think of what had happened to them. Azula was no longer the princess she once was, and all reminders of her old life had been pushed aside. “I never got to wear them. It was the armor I favored best,” and the only thing she could not wear anymore without putting everyone around her on nerve’s end. It was a shame, she thought, but one that was well deserved. “Those simply did not feel right.”

“May I see them?”

“You will, once I find them. Though I am sure you will not want to distract yourself from the very treasures your father is going to give you tonight.”

“My father…?! How can you know?”

“I may have heard something, Princess Izumi. I may even have gotten to see such delicacies with my own two eyes. _Oh, if only I were persuaded to describe them!”_

“Oh, I know what you’re doing! You’re trying to distract me from the story!”

“Oh, and here I thought you had your father’s attention spam!”

“Aunt.”

“I’m just kidding. I would never dare insult dearest Zuzu. Not to his face, at least.”

* * *

She dressed in the finest silks, red as blood. Golden ornaments were hanged from her hair in an intricate topknot adorned with rubies and her crown. They put on her makeup, and she was greeted with the image of a doll. Her cheeks were still full –those of a child, and she almost felt it was insulting the maids had not done anything to conceal them, though her lips as red as blood soothed her.

* * *

“How was your betrothed like?”

“Old, fat and ugly.”

“Oh…”

“But I could change it. I told father that a union with the military was more important than with courtesans, and I whispered in the right ears to prove that. Father thought it was his idea,” she said and smiled. Allowing herself that self-indulgence had tasted like liquid gold. “There was a tenant who grew quite fond of me after my fourteenth birthday, barely a few years older than me. And he was handsome, too. Though at that time I was not that interested… We never really spoke outside of battle plans, so I had no chance to ruin it.”

“A child soldier?”

“There were… a lot of us back then,” Azula explained, her hands tight on her lap, a distant air to her. “He had ascended the lines faster than most. He was good at his job.”

“Did you meet him while you were at the Southern Islands?”

“I did.”

“Oh! And have you met him again? After you…?”

“He asked your father for my hand after I came back,” she managed to smile the same smug smile she preferred.

“And you said no,” Izumi said, frowning.

“I said no,” Azula carefully replied, eyes suddenly fixed on her nails. “Once you’ve traveled the world spending your life with a man seems quite… _anticlimactic_.”

The young princess nodded shortly.

“One day I will have to marry,” Izumi said, eyes unreadable and lips tight, as if to keep herself from sighing.

Azula assessed her in silence. “It will be expected, yes.”

“And it will be arranged for me.”

“Your parent’s marriage was arranged, and look how it turned out. I am sure that your Father would never dare force you do anything you are not comfortable doing. And your mother would kill the man who dares presume he has a say in your future.”

_“I could turn them down myself._”

Knowing her ego had been wounded, however small the wound, the older princess sought to mend her mistake. “And I am sure you will,” was her response, soft as honey. “As I am sure you will choose wisely, with not only the country’s best intentions at heart, but yours as well.”

“_One day I will have to marry_,” Izumi said, and she sounded so miserable the older princess could not help but relate.

“Not if you don’t want to.” Azula stood, stopping just in front of where her niece was sitting. She placed her hands on her niece’s shoulders, as she had seen others do when offering support. It was still all new to her, too foreign. But she’d be damned if she didn’t try.

“Your country will ask a lot from you – but at the end of the day, the only person who is going to be standing at your side, when everything else falls, you will only have yourself,” princess Azula said, and her voice left no room for any more doubts, she chased them away as she chased her ghosts.

Her story was written all over her face.


End file.
